


Weight of Shadows

by quiet__tiger



Category: Batman - All Media Types
Genre: Contemplative, Drama, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 07:45:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10849554
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quiet__tiger/pseuds/quiet__tiger
Summary: It's a dark and stormy night, and wee!Bruce is having trouble coping.





	Weight of Shadows

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: "Darkness."
> 
> Originally posted to Livejournal 8th-Dec-2011.

_Overwhelming_.

Nowhere to run, nothing he could do.

Bruce was buried under the darkness, both literal and figurative.

The thundering storm outside had knocked out the power, and the Manor had been plunged in shadows for more than an hour. The generator needed gas but Alfred didn’t want to drive through the snow to get more.

Bruce sat wide-eyed on his bed, wishing the snow would stop or the lights would come back on. It was the first snowstorm since his parents died—were _killed_ —and he was having a difficult time getting through it. His mother wasn’t here to hold his hand or play games or generally make it all better, and his father wasn’t here to explain the storm and hypothesize what had broken to turn the lights off.

He struggled to breathe again as he thought about their absence and the gaping hole it left in his chest. The flickering candlelight and too-bright-but-not-enough lantern light didn’t do anything to alleviate the weight of his pain. He couldn’t focus on anything but how he wouldn’t eat his mother’s cinnamon rolls ever again, and his father would never be around to go sledding. Not that he’d been around a lot before, not with his job, but the few times he’d taken Bruce out had become treasured memories.

Remembering that night in the alley was all too easy at night anyway, with nothing to distract him from remembering and reliving and being there again listening to his mother’s scream and the gunshots. And now when would the lights come back on? Was he doomed to remember and relive and be there all over again forever?

Wondering what kind of horrible, depraved man—monster?—could just walk up to a family and end it. Destroy it. In a dark alley after a series of unfortunate decisions. The movie. Leaving. Choosing to walk _there_. Too dark to get a good look at the man wielding the gun. Too dark for Bruce’s memory to settle on more than white pearls bouncing on the pavement.

A gust of wind made his window shake, and Bruce was once again dragged into the present, shadows dancing in the corners as the candles flickered. He thought he saw something move in the corner, and quickly looked away. He needed a distraction.

Instead his eyes came to rest on his parents’ picture, which was hung on the wall in a place of honor over his dresser. Shadows licked the glass.

_When would the lights come back on?_

When he thought he wouldn’t be able to take it any longer—the lights being off, the memories leaching forth unabated—Alfred came in. Bruce was immediately wrapped in strong arms and surrounded by comforting words. Of apology for having to leave him for so long to make sure the house was okay. Of apology for what had happened to his parents, his family. Telling him the storm seemed to be winding down and no doubt the power would be back soon.

Words to remind Bruce he wasn’t alone even in the darkness. That someone was there who loved him and would stay with him.


End file.
